Turn Me From a Lover
by it's a placeholder
Summary: Their relationship is complicated at best, and toxic at worst. They fight, they break up, they get back together and then they do it all over again the next day, it's just how they work.


**Warnings for violence.**

**Ugh, some parts I love and some parts I hate but overall, I'm happy with the end result.**

..

There are days when all they want to do is quit.

Quit their jobs, quit their relationship, quit their lives – just for one moment of peace where there's no obligations holding them back and they can just exist in that little world where no one expects anything from them and they can just be.

It's easy to run away.

People do it all the time.

When things get bad, when they're scared, when they just want to rebel and get away from everything; just run away. Leave all your problems behind and go – go for a day, for a month, for the rest of your life and never look back.

But running away is also the easy way out. It's the shortcut way. It's not solving the problem; it's shoving it in a box and stowing it in the back of a closet labelled 'life' and letting dust collect on it for years and years until one day you stumble upon it, open the box and out comes rushing back all those unresolved things you left behind.

Abby and Edward have a lot of unopened boxes in their closets, and together, they could most probably make a mountain out of them.

Because that's what they do, they run. They run from expectations and they run from obligations and they run from each other but mostly they just run from themselves. And they're good at running but when they really want to, they're even better at staying. Staying together or staying apart, it doesn't really matter which one.

Running is easy, but staying is harder and there's nothing either of them loves more than a good challenge.

If you run, it's like saying 'I give up, you win' but if you stay it's telling the other 'I _dare_ you to leave, I _dare_ you to break first, I _dare_ you to _let_ me win'. And everyone knows that if you take two of the most stubborn people in the world and put them together, all you're going to get is two people shoving at a wall that neither of them can move, which means that they'll only continue shoving because neither wants to be the one to admit that they couldn't move it.

Their relationship is like shoving at walls.

They love each other. They hate each other.

Balance is the key. Balance is hard.

But there's that challenge again, calling out to them, taunting them, whispering to them 'you can't do it, look at you, you'd never be able to do it'.

They hate a lot of things, but they hate losing the worst.

So they stay together, for better, for worse. Until the worse becomes so bad that they can barely stand to be together so one of them leaves. They always come back though because it's easy to go but staying away is practically impossible; it's almost as if there's two magnets attached to them, always pulling them back to each other no matter how far they go.

There are days when they can barely talk to each other, much less look at each other.

Days like this one where everything hurts and they're both so tired. On days like this it's the always the smallest thing that sets them off, sends them spiralling into that rage where they scream, and shout and throw things until their voices go hoarse and there's nothing left to break.

It starts with a comment here, a jab there and before she knows it, Abby is storming into their room and packing an overnight bag because she can't bear to have to look at his face for one more second because she might just break it.

And of course, Edward realises this and follows after her because neither of them can leave an argument good and well alone, even if it's for the best.

"What are you doing?" he asks and his voice is trembling in that freezing cold place between pure panic and blinding rage. It should scare her; it's what it would do to any rational person who has at least one iota of common sense to know that when someone sounds that threatening, you don't stroke the fire – you run.

But Abby's not the kind of person to stroke it, no, she prefers to taunt and shove and keep pressing until the fire explodes. Maybe she gets burnt, maybe she gets away in time but either way, she never runs from it.

"What does it look like?" She snaps slamming a drawer shut and shoving a handful of clothes into her bag – half of them are most probably his.

"I'm leaving."

There's a terse moment of silence that stretches out between them. It's dangerous and painful and slithers along their skin, wrapping itself around their throats and squeezing till they can't breathe. It's the kind that hangs heavy in the air right before everything goes to hell.

Her back is to him but she can feel his eyes burning straight through her clothes and scarring her skin. She wants to turn around just so she can see the look on his face but she refuses to on the grounds that then she'll actually have to look at his face.

"No you're not," he says softly but nothing about it is gentle – it's all sharp edges and dark shadows and it sends chills twisting down her spine.

And she hates him in that moment.

Hates how easily he can affect her – a touch here, a whisper there, a kiss from his lips and she's putty in his hands. He can mould her however he wants to, can use her however he damn well pleases and she lets him because she loves him.

She hates that.

She hates _him_.

"You," she says turning to face him with a glare, "are_ not_ the boss of me."

He raises an eyebrow at her, blue eyes blazing with red and his gaze burns. He nods at her but nothing about it means that he's agreeing. It only takes five steps for him to reach her, and he stands as close as possible so that she's forced tilt her head back to look up at him because he loves to use his height over her, the fucking bastard.

"I don't have to be. You'll stay on your own," he whispers, his lips only inches away from her own.

She wants to kiss him.

She slaps him instead.

The smack reverberates around the room, ringing over and over in her ears to fill the hush that follows. His cheek is slowly dissolving from a bright pink to a dark red and his eyes are bluer than she's ever seen them. Something like fear creeps into her stomach but the feeling of satisfaction far outweighs it. Of course, somewhere in there is an inkling of guilt but it's easy to ignore when she can tell that she's finally gotten to him.

"I'm leaving," she repeats quietly, letting her lips brush against his. "And you're not going to stop me."

It's easier after that to pick up her bags and leave. She slings it over her shoulder and goes to move past him when his hand snaps out and snatches her wrist in a grip so tight she knows there will be bruises tomorrow.

She tugs against his hold, once, twice before she lets her bag drop to the floor with a '_thunk'_ and spins towards him.

"Let me go," she snaps and he tightens his grip in response.

"No," he replies with cold eyes that set her on fire.

"Fucking asshole," she growls and goes to slap him again when he suddenly comes alive, grabbing hold of her other wrist and shoving her backwards until he can slam her against the dresser. She lets out a grunt when the handle digs into her back. She tries to lash out again but he only pushes her further back.

"You don't get to leave," he growls against her lips and she opens her mouth to respond only for him to crash his lips against hers while he slips his tongue inside. She pushes against him once and when he doesn't budge she goes for the easier hit and bites down on his lower lip until she can taste the metallic tang on her tongue.

"Fuck!" he shouts and grabs his mouth, stepping back far enough for her to slip out from underneath him. She tries to make a run for it but he's already there pushing her against the wall and crushing his lips against hers.

She whimpers and tries to fight him but he swipes his tongue against her bottom lip slowly before pulling it gently between his teeth. A little huff escapes her that she can't hold back and his eyes snap up to hers. Their eyes meet and she holds his gaze for a few seconds trying to ignore the warmth that begins to tumble about in her chest. He lets go of her lip with a little pop and she stands there for a half-second before that feeling in her chest surges through her whole body.

It's like a switch sudden turns on and she surges forward, her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and everything burns when they touch but it's better than the cold that rushes over her when they're apart.

Because that's how they work; they fight, and scream and one of them tries to leave. Sometimes they actual make it out the front door, other times they can barely get past the bedroom.

This week she tries to leave.

Next week is his turn and she throws his bag out the window into the pouring rain.

They fight and they break up and they get back together and it happens again and again – a never-ending cycle.

But they can't quit it because quitting means that they won't have each other. And while, being together hurts, being apart hurts even more.


End file.
